


Love Makes You Whole (or something like that)

by judgeygabriel, jupiter (judgeygabriel)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Battle of Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judgeygabriel/pseuds/judgeygabriel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/judgeygabriel/pseuds/jupiter
Summary: The voice was just as smooth and cool as everything about the person holding him, words murmured softly, the voice sounding preoccupied. Their breath smelled of mint and iron; blood and ice.Harry Potter just died in a war. A part of him stayed dead when he came back to life, and he has no idea how to fix it. Someone else might. A Healer-in-training redeeming himself to the light side, for example.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! it's been... a while. i haven't had ideas or motivation for a very long time, but quarantine got the best of me. i have a plot in my head and too much time on my hands to make excuses for not writing it. this first chapter is an edited, remixed version of a draft i wrote in 2017, and i hope my continuation only improves the work. i'd love any feedback or comments you want to give, and the next chapters are still in the making, so if you have theories on where this will go... who knows?? you might write the destiny of this story :)
> 
> thanks to anyone (if there is anyone) who stuck with me through my four year dry spell. i won't abandon this one.

Harry collapses, wand dropping from his bloody hand: he is exhausted. Sweat-dampened, messy black curls stick to his neck and forehead, pink lips bloodied and bitten, eyes hardly able to open, weighed down like bricks.

The noise in the background; cheering, screaming, sobbing, fades to a buzz as Harry lies on the bloody ground. He can feel people running to him, shouts of joy, anger, fear, all heard through the baseless humming. 

He thinks the ground was shaking but...It seems to be him who is. His body is shuddering every few seconds, teeth clenched together and eyes squeezed shut. 

A cool hand suddenly touches his face- it feels like water after a hot day in the sun, refreshing and cool and soothing. The thumb touches his lip, gently, almost fearfully. Another hand is at the small of his back, pressing softly and pulling him up into a lap, comforting.

Harry's forehead presses against another's- it has the same tingling coolness as the hand. 

He opens his eyes slowly, his vision blurry. His head lolls back against the solid surface below him: a shoulder. An uninvited tear trickles down his cheek and he can feel himself shaking again, cool hands soothing down his back, feeling around for something. 

"It's okay."

The voice is just as smooth and cool as everything about the person holding him, words murmured softly, the voice sounding preoccupied. Their breath smells of mint and iron; blood and ice. 

"You'll pull through, Chosen One," sighs the person. "Tergeo." 

A whispered word. Harry can feel the sticky blood on his wounds disappearing, and he blinks, eyes feeling less weighed down. He sits back a little bit, head spinning. 

"No. Potter!" The word is sharp as they pull Harry back against them. "Stay there. Keep against me. We're going to go somewhere. You need to stay still."

An arm slips under his knee, one behind his back, and he's lifted off the ground. He presses his face against his rescuer's shoulder, too exhausted to hold himself up.

"There we go. You're okay. You're gonna be okay." The voice mutters quiet missives, almost too quiet for Harry to hear, and Harry realizes he can't hear anything but that voice. He pulls away, just the smallest bit, looking around them. A man holds him, and around them is an almost clear bubble, silver veins of magic running through it. 

He'd never seen that before.

No matter. All he can think of at this particular moment is the blinding pain in his body. He stifles a grunt, pressing back against his hero. Even looking around had hurt. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to think about the pain. 

After what seems like hours, Harry and the unknown person were inside the castle. They are in a room- it smells like fire and ash.

Harry is gently set down on a bed, where he finally opens his eyes. Seconds pass as he blinks hard, trying to make the pounding in his head stop. "Who are you?" he utters, voice sounding like sandpaper. The man is standing, back facing Harry, and looking at something, from what Harry could see. 

Harry sits up some, propping himself on his elbow and rubbing his eye. 

The man turns around and Harry's eyes widen.

"Malfoy." There's no loathing in the rough voice. "What are you doing? Everything's okay now. The war's over."

An almost mocking laugh spouts from the tall, lean boy as he approaches the bed. "Another war will happen. The wizarding world depends on their savior to get them through it. I'm the best Healer in training at Hogwarts. I've been helping everyone, and you need it more than most."

He sits down on the bed. "Sit up, please," he murmurs. Harry does and closes his eyes as he waits for the dizziness to subside. "Vulnera Sanentur."

Harry's intensely green eyes turn to Malfoy. His cool fingers are hovering over Harry's deepest wound, on his side. He doesn’t seem to be holding a wand. 

The magic snakes down into Harry's cut, trying to heal it with threads of intent Malfoy had sent, but it isn’t working. It does hurt though. Harry grimaces, flinching away from the sharp, needle-like pain. Malfoy sends him a lethal look before frowning and pulling the magic back. "Stay still, Potter," he instructs. His magic prods back at Harry's cut, Harry forcing himself to stay in place, and Malfoy nods. "There it is." He sets to work.

His eyes close as he begins to murmur a complex intancation under his breath, fingers moving closer, gently resting over the broken skin. 

Harry almost moves away from the cold hands, feeling the blond's magic under his skin, making its way down to the deepest part of the gash and slowly healing it. He winces, his body rejecting the foreign magic. This doesn’t feel good.

Malfoy's eyes open and his pupils dilate as he stares at Harry. "You need to relax, Potter," he bites out, voice tense. "I can't do this if you don't. Relax." He stares at Harry for a beat longer than necessary, eyes closing as he focuses back on his magic. His eyebrows pull together faintly as he starts muttering faster, the incantation seemingly getting much more complicated. 

The language of the spell seems to change, the soft Latin he was speaking bleeding into French, soft accents and tilted words. Malfoy is weaving magic into Harry's body, pulling a pain-reducing spell in as well, almost seamlessly adding it. There is a small stutter when he does, and his eyes open, focusing intently on Harry's wound. His fingers press down a bit more, chanting faster to fix the ragged scar.

Watching Malfoy, Harry is mesmerized. Malfoy's voice gets tighter wound by the second until-

Finally, he relaxes. Harry didn't realize how tense the blond boy had been until his shoulders lower, his eyebrows relax, and his fingers stop pressing on Harry's side, though they remain there, cooling the heated skin. A strand of sweat-soaked golden hair falls into the boy's face, and Harry's eyes follow it.

Malfoy's eyes flash up to meet Harry's, both intense gazes caught. Harry's eyes flicker down to Malfoy's lips, as he had started to spell another, smaller, gash shut. He was almost done now, Harry thinks. He can feel the twinge of Malfoy's magic making itself known inside his body, almost at his skin. 

Malfoy finishes a few seconds later, his words speeding up as he looks back at the wound. His last word is a soft whisper, a puff of air escaping him as he leans back, a single drop of sweat tracing down his cheek. 

He smiles, a small, genuine smile, and a dimple makes itself known. 

Harry stares at it, confused. He blinks and his gaze flickers up to meet Malfoy's. The smile on Malfoy's face quickly fades, the dimple disappearing.

Malfoy looks somber, molten silver eyes boring into Harry's with an intensity Harry didn't understand. He blinks and shakes his head, trying to clear the fog. 

Malfoy presses pink lips together, ducking his head down. "You have more injuries. Let me help."

Harry nods, even though Malfoy can't see it. "Yes," he says. "Okay." 

Malfoy looks up, eyes flashing light grey. His eyebrows raise a fraction, lips parted. He seems...surprised Harry would allow him to help. A shadow of a smile passes over Malfoy's face, but it's gone before Harry can catch more than a glance.

Harry studies Malfoy as he looks to the side, rummaging through a bag. His skin is pallid, his lower lip bloody. He has a small cut under his eye, bruises on his high cheekbones, dark marks around his throat. He looks terrible. Harry tilts his head, regarding the bully he'd known most of his life. It felt like he didn't know him at all anymore. His gaze travels farther down Malfoy, examining his lithe frame. He'd gotten rather fit. 

Malfoy turns back to Harry and blinks as his eyes connect with Harry's burning gaze. Harry blinks too, eyes widening as he realizes what he's doing. He glances away, pressing himself against the headboard and avoiding Malfoy's eyes. 

Harry cringes at himself. Why was he staring at Malfoy like that?

The bed lifts where Malfoy had been sitting: he'd stood up. Is he leaving? Harry closes his eyes, letting out a short breath. He'd already fucked things up and he'd barely even spoken.

Barely a second had passed before there was a cool hand on Harry's jaw, turning his head. Harry opens his eyes, glancing up at Malfoy, who offers a quick smile as he stood in front of Harry.

"I'm going to heal from the top down, alright?"

"Okay." Harry awkwardly coughs, eyes facing as far away from Malfoy's as they could.

"Good. The bruises will be easiest, so I'll start with those." Malfoy leans forward to inspect Harry's forehead, the scent of his sweat and soap enveloping Harry, who sits stock still, staring at the neck of Malfoy's shirt, which is cut low enough to reveal a pale chest, littered with scars. Malfoy's voice breaks the silence of the room. "Lean forward a bit, please," he instructs, his voice professional, but not cold.

Harry leans at the waist, his eyes dropping lower on Malfoy's torso to where his shirt tucks into his pants.

Malfoy gently presses his finger against the bruise and Harry flinches. "Shh," he murmurs to the younger boy. "Hold on." He cups Harry's jaw as he presses against the bruise, lifting his chin and murmuring a few soft words. He waves his hand over the bruise before placing his fingers against it again, letting his magic flow into Harry and heal him. When he feels the skin fully mend, his eyes open and he gives that ghost smile to Harry again.

"Good. Two more bruises." He repeats the process with a bruise on Harry's jaw, and one just under his eye. Harry sits through the whole process, fidgeting with pent up energy, eyes going to different spots on Malfoy's body as he waits. When Malfoy tells him it's over, he sighs. 

"Thanks, Malfoy. Is everything fixed now?" 

Malfoy laughs, a tired sound Harry had never heard before in his life. His green eyes flash to Malfoy's grey, and Malfoy looks away, pressing his lips together. 

"Sorry, I don’t know where that came from. Er, no."

Harry blinks. "What do you mean, no? What could be left?"

Malfoy tilts his head. "I didn't get a look at your back or anything below the belt. Those are...rather important."

Harry blinks again. "Below... the belt?"

Malfoy chuckles. It was a real laugh- quiet and suppressed, but real. "Your legs, Harry."

"Oh!" Harry shakes his head, his cheeks darkening. "That's...fine." He looks away from Malfoy, not wanting to see his smirk. He'd gotten distracted. 

"How innocent." Malfoy's voice holds no mocking, just teasing, and what seems like curiosity. Harry turns to him, confused, and blinks at the strange look in Malfoy's eyes. Had he put him off? He hadn't meant to. 

Malfoy shakes his head slightly, closing his eyes. When he reopens them, the strange expression is gone, replaced with a determined look. 

"So? Do you want me to heal the rest of you?"

Harry hesitates. Malfoy, seeing him shirtless? Pantsless?? 

Malfoy lets out another laugh. "I won't judge you, Potter. I'm sure you're very fit. The girls have been drooling over you since you were eleven, after all"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Fuck off, Malfoy." He hesitates one more second. but finds he isn’t all too opposed to the idea of Malfoy seeing if he was fit or not. And maybe telling him so, too. "Let's get this over with."

Harry begins to unbutton his shirt, almost shy. He clumsily pushes it off his shoulders when he's done. He lets Malfoy pluck it off the bed, folding it neatly before setting it aside. 

Harry stands up and takes a few steps away from Malfoy. "Close your eyes," he says, brusquely. Malfoy does, turning away from him, and Harry unbuttons his pants and slips them off. He leaves his briefs on and messily folds the pants, setting them with his shirt. 

Malfoy opens his eyes, turning around, and grimaces at the sight of the pants. He picks them up, unfolding them and refolding them correctly. He sets them down, his hands hovering over the neatly creased fabric for a millisecond before he stands up, pushing his hair back and turning to Harry.

Harry watches him, head tilted. His hair is messier than Harry's ever seen it. Malfoy looks up at him and Harry smiles without even thinking. Malfoy looked young. Sweet, almost.

Malfoy's eyes dart away and color rises in his pale cheeks. Harry shakes his head, taking a few seconds to compose himself. Was he really finding Draco Malfoy attractive? Sweet?? The two boys sit in awkward silence for a beat more until Malfoy returns to normal, making an attempt to be business-like. 

"Lie down, please," Malfoy says, voice slightly softer than before. When Harry does, he can almost feel Malfoy relaxing behind him. He peeks over his shoulder, watching Malfoy pushing his hair back again. He takes a deep breath, hands tangled in his silvery hair, steadying himself. Harry turns back to the pillows in front of him, a smile pulling at his lips. 

Malfoy sits down next to Harry, and Harry can hear the clinking of glass and feel the heat of his body as Malfoy leans over him to presumably rummage in his bag. 

Malfoy sets a few jars next to Harry's head, and opens one, spreading the gel from inside of it generously over Harry's back. It smells distinctly of mint and cools his skin so quickly it feels almost sharp. 

"What's that?"

"A relaxer. It makes the magic flow easier, and makes a connection easier to hold," the taller boy explains. He applies the gel silently for a few minutes, massaging it into the dark skin below him before he absent-mindedly begins to hum.

Harry grins, burying his face in the mattress so Malfoy can't see it.

Once he's done with the gel, he begins with his magic. His fingers gently press and prod at the expanse of skin that is Harry's back, sending tiny sparks to tell him what injuries there were. There was some bruising, a few superficial cuts, and some residual magic inside him, but that could be fixed moderately easily. The magic would take the longest. Malfoy tells Harry as such before he begins the next stage.

His fingers, as cool as before, press into Harry's hot skin. The murmured words of the complicated incantations surround Harry in a relaxing daze, his eyes closing as Malfoy's magic courses through him.

Malfoy keeps at the Healing for much longer than on the bruises and gash, but Harry doesn’t mind. He dozes off completely at one point, to the sound of Malfoy's velvet voice and feel of his magic hands.

About half an hour later, Malfoy sits back. Harry can feel drops of sweat from him on his back. "The magic inside you was much harder to clear than I thought. You had a few bad spells caught before they really reached you, but that weakened your wand core while you were using it. It should be back to normal now. Now, please flip over."

Harry nods and flips over, and Malfoy traces his muscles with long fingers, eyes closed, checking Harry's magic. He stills as he gets to the center of Harry's chest, his brow furrowing- he presses down hard, sending a sharp wave of magic into Harry, who winces. Malfoy whispers a soft spell that Harry couldn't hear, and his fingers trace a shape over Harry's chest. He gently pokes and prods at the same spot, whispering quiet incantations, before stopping completely. 

Malfoy's eyes open and he looks down at Harry, fingers hesitantly lifting from his chest.

"Harry."

"What?" 

"Why is part of your soul missing?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello (: i've had this chapter in my google docs for quite a few months now, but i was sitting on it, overthinking it, you know the feeling. i've decided that even if my writing isnt perfect or if some things are awkward, it's better to post and continue improving and receiving criticism than to just let my anxiety hold me back. sorry for the wait! i am very excited for this fic, and would love if anybody could comment w thoughts :D i also may be posting a new drarry fic soon!! and possibly bakudeku, but who knows. thanks for reading!! <3

Harry's eyes flew open and he tensed, his gaze locked onto the floor of the room. Malfoy's words were echoing around in his head.

"Harry?" Malfoy's voice, and his cool hand on Harry's back, shocked him.

He flinched away from the hand. Clenching his teeth together, he shoved himself up to his knees, whipping around to face the other boy. "What did you say to me, Malfoy?" he growled. His palms were sweating, and he felt a little bit dizzy. "This better not be some sick fucking joke!"

Malfoy was staring at him, his eyebrows lifted high, his eyes containing something unexplainable as he drew back slightly. After a split second, his face hardened.

"Why would I possibly joke about such a thing?" He sounds cold, like his old self. Defensive. His tone was tinged with that same unexplainable emotion. If Harry didn't know better, he would think he'd hurt Malfoy and feel guilty for lashing out. But, of course, he did know better. "I'm not joking, Potter, don't be so insolent. I'm on my way to be a healer, and you'd be hard-pressed to find someone near my level of medical knowledge in this castle.” Malfoy’s voice was getting lower, angrier.

He looked up at Harry, his bright silver eyes holding the green eyed gaze, nearly magnetic. “You're missing a part of your soul." His voice was harsh as he practically spat the words at Harry.

Harry screwed his face up when Malfoy said it again, ripping his gaze from Malfoy’s and pushing himself off the bed, towards where Malfoy had folded his clothes. He could feel Malfoy's burning eyes on him as he took the short few steps to his clothes, each one feeling like a slog through concrete.

He grabs his pants, knowing he's being too rough, knowing he's being illogical, but not knowing how to fix it and not really caring anyway.

He pulls his pants back on, picking up his shirt and turning to face Malfoy, whose face was cold as he stared at Harry with those stupid impassive silver eyes, his stupid mouth pressed tight. He had stood up, his arms crossed protectively over himself.

"You need to go to Saint Mungo's."

Harry rolled his eyes, letting out a huff of a laugh as he pulled his shirt’s sleeves onto his arms."The fuck do you think Saint Mungo's is gonna do?” He starts to pull the neck hole over his head. “I had a fucking Horcrux inside me, though of course they would never have known that!” He grunts, shirt half on, and realizes, a bit late, that Malfoy didn’t actually know that before. He looked up at him, gauging the look on the blond’s face.

Malfoy blinks twice, pale eyebrows raising a fraction. 

“You had...a Horcrux inside you?”

Harry grimaces, looking away as he yanks his shirt down fully. “A piece of Voldemort’s soul attached itself to me when his killing curse rebounded. I had to die to kill it. I did.” He runs a hand through his tangled curls, turning slightly away from Malfoy. He could still feel his eyes. It was unnerving.

A long moment passed in silence, and when Harry looked back at Malfoy, he was staring at the ground, a finger against his lips. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he was silently mouthing something to himself. 

Harry took a breath, about to say something, though he didn’t know what, when Malfoy’s eyes flashed up to his, filled with revelation. 

“Of course, of course! That’s exactly it, it makes so much sense.” 

Harry blinked. 

“If a Horcrux, a piece of a soul, attached itself to you, it could bond with your soul, especially over 17 years… And then when that Horcrux dies, is ripped away, what would happen to that piece of your soul?” Malfoy’s voice was near frenzied, one hand buried in his white hair, the other waving in the air. He resembled Hermione when she got passionate about something. 

Harry’s lips quirked up slightly at the thought, imaging how Malfoy would react if he said that out loud. The blond had stopped talking, but he was clearly still thinking. His eyebrows were still drawn together. 

“We’ll have to do research.” Malfoy’s voice interrupts Harry’s reverie.

“How do you expect to do that? In the Restricted Section of the school library?” Harry scoffs.

Malfoy rolls his eyes, flipping a dismissive hand at Harry. “Are you so stupid you forgot my families immense wealth? We have a massive library and, trust me,” Malfoy leveled a dark glance at Harry, “it has plenty of information about Horcruxes.”

Harry presses his mouth together, the cold reality of who he’s talking with washing over him once again. He knows Malfoy can feel it too. He lets out a breath, trying to let go of that. The anger, the hatred. Malfoy can help him, and he’d changed. Harry had to change too. He resolves to have an open mind- he was the one at stake here.

“Will your parents even let you back into the Manor?”

Malfoy stares blankly at Harry, his eyes completely empty. Harry's eyes widen in response, as he realizes the implications of what he'd said. He opens his mouth, grasping for the right thing to say, or anything at all, but can find nothing. After an agonizing few seconds, Malfoy breaks his gaze, staring intently at the floor, away from Harry.

His voice is stilted as he responds. “My mother loves me. She’ll do most anything for me.” His eyes flash to Harry’s as if daring him to say anything about what she wouldn’t do. “My father is going to Azkaban. We both know it. It’s just a matter of a time until he’s captured and brought into custody- they will have fled to one of our other estates.” 

“Oh.” Harry’s voice is unsure. “I’m sor-”

“I have no need of your pity, Savior,” Malfoy snaps. “You have never filled that role for me.” 

Harry narrows his eyes, wanting to defend himself, but he was in the wrong this time. This man in front of him wasn’t the mean-spirited bully he’d known. He had no idea who Malfoy had become. 

“I don’t want to be your savior, Malfoy. I just want to figure this out.”

Malfoy lets out a hard laugh. “I’m your only hope then, Potter. The roles are reversed after all this time.” He rubs a hand across his bruised face, sighing. “We’ll go to the Manor.”

“I have to tell Ron and Hermione if we’re going somewhere.”

“Take care of that yourself, Potter. I have wizards and witches to treat. Once I’ve taken care of my duties here, I’ll come find you.” Malfoy had turned, beginning to collect his things back into his bag. His voice was cooled, distant. Harry didn’t like it. “I’ll send a Patronus. I’ll be able to get to you. So, forget about me for now.” 

Malfoy turns back around, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He met Harry’s eyes, holding his gaze for a second before he spoke. “See you soon.” He turned, walking out of the room.

Harry was left feeling like he was missing more than one part of himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ Malfoy places his hand on top of hers for a moment, and she stills. Her eyes are locked on him, wide and glassy. She sniffs once more, quietly, then squeezes her eyes shut, curling a hand into Malfoy’s shirt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again everyone!! :D i hope you enjoyed the first two chapters, we’re getting closer to the real plot!

Harry walks the cold, empty halls of Hogwarts with no mind to where his feet are leading him. The smell of blood, of death, is heavy in the air. 

Ron and Hermione were likely mourning, as he should be. Harry knows that many people would be dead when it was all said and done. Dead because of him, because of what Voldemort had done to get him.

A faint din of voices reaches Harry’s ears, and he shakes his head. He can’t be wandering around doing nothing when a war has just ended, when a part of him is gone. He turns right, walking towards the noise. It’s leading him towards the Great Hall. He reaches its door, stopping just outside, not wanting to enter. The room is full of bodies. 

His friends, classmates, enemies. They’re all there. 

Harry spots red hair that looks like it’s miles away. He steps through the doorway, feeling like he’s entering an entirely new space. The air is heavy with murmured conversations, nobody daring to be loud. There are tears, and blood, and the rank smell of gore. 

Harry pushes through it all, whispering apologies as he presses past all the people he knew. His beacon is the bright red hair he can see bowed over a body in the middle of the room. 

Harry slows as he finally got close to the Weasleys. He could feel the pain rolling off them in waves, and spotted one of the twins in the middle of their huddle, cold and still on the unforgiving stone floor of the hall. Harry’s heart stuttered, and he pressed a hand to his mouth. His eyes welled with tears as Molly Weasley, practically his mother, the woman who had accepted him since he was 11, looked up at him. 

She attempted a weak smile, reaching one arm out to him, the other gripping tightly to the other twins’ arm- George. Harry stumbled over, barely aware of his surroundings, and sunk down to his knees next to her. Hermione, Ron, George, Arthur, and Ginny were all there too, no words passing between them.

Harry couldn’t look at Fred’s body, or any of their faces. This was his fault. Fred had died because of him. 

He let out a tiny, choked sound, and Ron looked up at him. He put a large hand on Harry’s knee, making Harry look up at him. Ron’s mouth was set, his cheeks streaked with tear tracks. But still, his lips lifted crookedly in a broken smile. His other hand was clasped with Hermione’s, and she was looking at Harry too. Both their eyes were red, and they were holding onto each other for dear life. 

Harry could feel the brokenness. They had to grieve, as a family. He wouldn’t worry them with his issues.

He forces a slight smile for Ron, patting his shoulder once before turning back to Molly. She had returned to staring forlornly at her lost son, half of a pair, tears slowing trekking down her face. Harry put a gentle hand on her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her cheek and standing up. She glances at him, seeming to understand. He turns to Hermione, whose face was upturned to look at him. He brushed a tear from her cheek before turning and striding back towards the door.

He could swear he sees a glimpse of white blonde hair in the crowd of bodies, and he pushes his way towards it. He stops a few feet behind Malfoy, who had just bent down over a small witch, probably a third year. She’s lying on her back, tears rolling down her cheeks as she clutches at her side. 

Malfoy pries her small hands away, murmuring softly to her, words Harry can’t hear. There’s blood there, a dark stain on her crumpled white shirt. Harry’s eyes widen as he watches her tearfully sniffle and grasp desperately at Malfoy. 

Malfoy places his hand on top of hers for a moment, and she stills. Her eyes are locked on him, wide and glassy. She sniffs once more, quietly, then squeezes her eyes shut, curling a hand into Malfoy’s shirt. He pulls out his wand, beginning his incantations. Harry shakes himself out of his reverie, turning around to walk out of the Great Hall. He spares a glance back at Malfoy and the little girl, a sense of pride gently warming him. 

Harry steps out of the chaotic room, taking a deep breath. It felt claustrophobic in there. He begins to walk around the castle, checking under debris and rubble to see if there were any survivors or bodies. Over the next hours, he found a few young students who had hidden away in fear, and two cold corpses. 

He’s exhausted by the time a small paper bird flits up to him. He lifts his hand, and it lands on his finger, chirping at him before it folds open. 

He smiles slightly as he reads the message written in elegant cursive- “I’ve done what I can. Mediwizards have taken over. Meet me at the Astronomy Tower. D” He sets off for the tower, the piece of paper tucked in his pocket. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he glances around. 

“Potter.” 

Harry turns, seeing Malfoy. He’s leaning against one of the balconies, his hair looking like spun silver against the light of the setting sun. He turns, facing the sky, and Harry walks up behind him. He regards Malfoy, how his eyes are blank as he stares at the sky, how he looks worn and tired. He leans on his folded arms against the balcony as he addresses Harry. 

“Do you need to do anything before we go to the manor? I’m not sure how long we’ll be there.” 

Harry shifts on his feet, considering the question. Finally, he speaks. “I should stop by Grimmauld Place.”

Malfoy nods slightly, standing up fully. “Let’s go, then.” 

Harry blinks stupidly as Malfoy glances at him. “Er… What?” 

The blond rolls his eyes. “Let’s go to Grimmauld Place. You can’t get into the manor without me, so I should just come with you. It makes the most sense.”

Harry rubs at the back of his neck, staring hard at the ground. He didn’t want Malfoy in Sirius’ house. His people had killed Sirius. But… Malfoy wasn’t part of that group. 

Harry resolved himself, looking up at Malfoy. He smiles tensely. “Alright, Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any thoughts, please feel free to leave them or a kudo!! <3 thank you so much for reading!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy and Harry may be connecting, but they have a long way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is very much filler, but i wanted to give harry and draco some time to get comfortable around each other as they work on this project of theirs. i hope you enjoy!!

They go through the floo in the headmaster’s office. Harry steps in first, with a call of “Number 12 Grimmauld Place!” The bright green flames engulf him, and as they die down, he glances around at his dead godfather’s living room.

Nothing much had changed. Pieces of furniture are covered in white sheets, casting a ghostly air in the room. Paintings hang along the walls, extravagant gold frames holding them. The house was once worthy of a wealthy socialite family, but it had become a shell of its former glory. 

Harry takes a few shaky steps, waiting for Malfoy to come through the floo after him. He shivers slightly. It feels haunted in the cold room. What’s taking Malfoy so long?

Harry turns, watching the fireplace intently. Is he going to try and attack me? He backs up slightly, his heel knocking against one of the pieces of covered furniture. He grunts, pulling out his wand and holding it loosely at his side as he shuffles around the furniture. 

Long, tense minutes pass. Harry gets more and more on edge, pacing the room.After what feels like a lifetime, the fireplace roars with green flames. They lick up the brick before fading away to reveal Malfoy, whose face is shadowed. There’s a new scrape on his cheek, red and aggravated, and what looks like the beginnings of a bruise. 

Harry, who had instinctively readied his wand and dropped into a dueling stance, let his hand fall limp to his side. He shifts out of his lowered position, his eyes locked on the shaken looking blond. 

“Malfoy-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Malfoy cuts him off, his voice harsh. He gingerly touches the scrape on his cheek, glancing at his bloody fingers before wiping them on his dark robe. “I’m fine. Do what you need to do.”

Harry inclines his head slightly, his gaze staying on Malfoy for a few more seconds before he turns to the door of the living room and strides out. If Malfoy didn’t want him to worry, fine. They weren’t friendly anyway. He heads straight for the staircase, lost in thought, but turns back when he realizes he doesn’t hear steps behind him. 

“Malfoy?” he calls. 

The blond steps out of the living room, glancing at him. “Did you need me to come with you? Are you not a big boy who can go on his own?”

Harry glared at Malfoy. “I’d rather not leave you alone in my godfather’s house. You can come with me.” 

Malfoy’s face drops, and Harry feels a stab of guilt, but he pushes it away. 

“Come on, then.”

Harry starts up the stairs again, hearing Malfoy’s slow steps behind him. Each wooden step creaks under his weight as he stiffly makes his way up. He can feel Malfoy just behind him.

“Here,” Harry says. He stops in front of a closed door, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Malfoy. He grimaces at what he sees. 

Malfoy’s shoulders are slumped, and his eyes look exhausted as he stares at the grains of the floor. The scrape on his cheek is inflamed, slightly swollen and red. Harry rips his eyes away, taking a deep breath. Pitying Malfoy will do nothing. 

He pushes the door in, taking a careful step inside. A sad smile pulls at his lips as he takes in Sirius’ room. Malfoy moves with him, and ends up crowding Harry slightly in the doorway. 

Harry can feel the heat of Malfoy’s chest against his back, and has to suppress the urge to lean back against his chest like he had when Malfoy had carried him off the battlefield. The blond was muscled, but gentle. And fuck, did he smell good. 

“Potter?”

Harry starts, turning to look at Malfoy with wide eyes. “Malfoy?”

He receives an amused smile from Malfoy. “Are we just going to stand here?”

Harry’s cheeks warm, and he glares at Malfoy. “Shut up, Malfoy. Come on, then.”

He fully enters the old bedroom, which he’d always wanted to make his home. He starts with heading towards the wardrobe, opening it to a plume of dust right in his face. He begins to cough, waving a hand in front of his face to disperse the allergens. Malfoy, on the other side of the room, lets out a chuckle, which he covers with a cough when Harry turns to look at him incredulously. 

Harry rolls his eyes, letting a small smile grace his face as he turns back to the large wardrobe. He glances over the clothes inside, grabbing a few sweaters, as well as simple shirts. He turns to the bed, dropping his selections on it. He glances up at Malfoy, doing a double take as he sees the absolutely affronted expression on his face as he stares at the pile of tops. 

Harry raises an eyebrow, smirking as Malfoy looks up at him. “Problem, Malfoy?” 

Malfoy’s nose wrinkles as his eyes blink down to the clothes before coming back up to Harry’s. “Are those what you’re choosing?” he asks. His voice is wry.

“Yep!” Harry grins at Malfoy, reaching under the bed to grab one of Sirius’ bags. He begins to shove the clothes into it, ignoring Malfoy’s gaze on him. 

Malfoy lets out a long suffering sigh, and Harry sends one more smile in his direction as he picks up his bag. 

“You ready, then, Malfoy?”

The tall blonde rolled his eyes. “Yes. You will be getting clothes more suited for the Manor when we get there.” His face spreads in a cheeky smirk. “You have to be on my level.”

Harry rolls his eyes, turning quickly on his heel as a blush rises in his cheeks. “Let’s just go. Pompous man.” 

Malfoy laughs openly as he follows Harry out of Sirius’ room and down to the living room. Harry is, once again, far too aware of Malfoy’s presence behind him, the heat of his body. Malfoy steps around him to get to the fireplace, his hip brushing against Harry’s. 

Harry’s face explodes in heat as Malfoy grabs the pot of green Floo powder on the mantel. 

“There are wards, so we’ll need to go together,” Malfoy says lightly, turning to face Harry. His eyes trace over Harry’s face, and Harry’s blush deepens. Malfoy’s lips curve into a slight smile, but he turns to face the fireplace again to let Harry recover some of his pride. 

“Ready?”

“Yes.” 

Harry steps up next to Malfoy, glancing sideways at him. He was still smiling, a small dimple in his right cheek making itself known. 

He tossed the Floo powder in, and grabbed Harry’s hand to tug him forward into the flash of flames. “Malfoy Manor!” he calls, his voice slightly unstable. 

And they were taken by the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed this chapter, or have thoughts, suggestions, comments... please leave a comment or a kudo!! i would LOVE to know!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two boys have finally begun their research when an unexpected wrench is thrown into their plans.

Harry’s breath sticks in his throat as the fire engulfs him. Malfoy had dropped his hand. The familiar feeling of his stomach twisting as he went through the Floo is stronger than usual, and he instinctively reaches out, stiff fingers closing around Malfoy’s forearm. He doesn’t get a look at Malfoy’s expression before the two drop into the large, ornate fireplace of the hall of Malfoy Manor. 

They stumble out together, connected by Harry’s hand, which is still holding tightly to Malfoy’s arm. As soon as he regains his wits, he lets go, sending a guilty glance over at Malfoy. To his relief, Malfoy isn’t looking anywhere in his direction. Instead, he seems completely overwhelmed by their present situation. His eyes are dark and stormy, bony fists tight at his sides. A scowl pulls at his delicate features as his eyes dart around the cavernous room. 

Harry glances around, and his breath catches yet again. This was where he had been. This is where they had been. When Malfoy… 

He shook himself. Hermoine had been tortured here. Voldemort had held meetings in this room. Was Draco Malfoy pretending he couldn’t recognize him the most important thing? Why did his mind go to that? Harry let out a sigh, then turned back to Malfoy. They should start setting up. 

“Malfoy.”

The blond’s face freezes, and Harry can practically see him carefully putting himself back together before he turns to Harry. 

“Potter?”

Harry lets a tiny smile touch his lips. Not to comfort Malfoy, not at all. Just to… lighten the mood. 

“Are you ready to set up?”

Malfoy’s face relaxes slightly, and Harry can see tension leaving him. A returning smile flashes across his face, quickly settling back into a neutral expression. But his eyes… they were soft. Grateful.

His lips curl into an impish smirk before he speaks again.

“Yes, you impatient bastard. Come with me.”

Harry trails behind Malfoy as he strides confidently through the elaborate mansion. They leave the dining room behind, walking through twisting hallways lined with doors. All are closed, except one. It lies adjacent to the bottom of a staircase, with double doors cracked slightly open. Harry peers into the room as Malfoy begins to ascend the stairs. 

There’s a desk, covered with papers and books, all coated in a thick layer of dust. A window sits directly behind the desk, casting the room in soft light. 

“Hurry up!” Malfoy says, irritation coloring his voice. 

Harry startles, turning back to the stairs and proceeding up them as Malfoy begins to walk again. They reach the second floor, where Malfoy turns down another hallway, finally stopping in front of one of the many nondescript doors. 

He glances over at Harry, his thin lips tightening, before pushing the door open. 

Harry peeks over his shoulder, wondering what was in the room. Even though he’d been expecting a bedroom, what he saw still surprises him. 

The room has cream colored walls, with a matching cream covered rug covering most of the floor. The furniture is all arranged around a large bed, which is covered in a plush looking navy comforter and giant pillows. Bookshelves are pushed against every wall, all full of any text you could imagine. There are posters on the wall, photos too. And right by the door is a large desk, nothing on its surface but a lone quill and dust.

Malfoy drops his bag onto the desk with a thump, and Harry realizes his mouth had been hanging open slightly as he stared. It snaps shut, and his gaze locks on Malfoy who, again, is completely ignoring him. 

Of course he is, he’s back in his childhood bedroom. It had to have been tainted. 

Harry sighs, shoving away the stupid thoughts once again. He didn’t have to be mean to Malfoy, but pitying him was no help either. They were here to do a job. 

He steps gingerly into the room, setting his bag down on the floor, near the wall. Out of the way. He does the same to himself, folding his arms in and standing near the door, silent. His eyes continue to take in the room, picking up small details as Malfoy goes through his silent coping. He notices the blanket- it’s tucked in at the bottom of the bed, but left slightly messy near the pillows. He also sees that the bookshelf closest to him has what looks like only poetry books, including those by Shakespeare and Poe. This surprises Harry, and his eyebrows raise, his eyes darting to Malfoy.

Once his eyes are on him, he can’t look away. Malfoy is staring at him. The grey eyes dart away from Harry’s, and Malfoy’s eyebrows draw in slightly. His cheeks and ears pinken slightly, and he lets out a huff of a sigh, and speaks.

“Why are you standing there like you’ll catch a disease if you touch anything?” 

Harry blinks, his arms loosening from their tightly crossed position. He hadn’t realized he’d drawn in so much. He huffs out a small laugh. “Shut up. I didn’t want to disturb your things.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be daft, Potter. It’s fine.” He flicks a dismissive hand towards the large, plush bed, and Harry tries to ignore how the tips of his ears are still red. “Sit down, I have to sort through some of these books. You won’t be able to help with that.” 

Harry makes his way over to the bed, settling down on the edge as Malfoy peruses the bookshelf closest to him. The blush had faded. How unfortunate.

“So, Malfoy,” Harry says, slightly more comfortable, “Why no green? I would’ve assumed your room would be chock full of Slytherin pride.”

Malfoy throws a wry smile over his shoulder at Harry, turning back to the books as he responds. “Green is a lovely color, but blue is my favorite. There’s plenty of Slytherin pride at Hogwarts. When I’m home, I like to be comfortable.” He waves a slender hand in the air, gesturing at the homey atmosphere as he pulls out books and inspects their covers. 

Harry watches those hands as they rifle through the worn pages of books. Some Malfoy sets on the desk, and others go back on the shelf. 

“My favorite color is red.”

Malfoy turns fully this time, a wide smile on his face. “I never would have guessed,” he teases, setting another book down on the desk. 

Harry rolls his eyes, smiling at Malfoy’s back as he returns to his task. “Not because of Gryffindor. Well…” he hesitates, and smiles again, wider this time. “Maybe a little.” 

“Oh, really?” Malfoy says, his voice still teasing. 

“Yeah.” Harry is lost in thought for a moment, but feels compelled to speak again. Something in Malfoy is drawing the words out of him. “I think the first time I realized I loved red was when I was really little. I got a bright red scarf my cousin Dudley grew out of, and it was the warmest one I’d had. And I would tend to the fires for my family when I was a kid. I loved to stare into the flames. Wasn’t allowed to very often, but I savored it when I could. It was warm.” He hesitates, his jaw clenching slightly as he remembers his cupboard. “Hogwarts was warm too. Comfortable, and loving, and warm. So, yeah, I love red.” Harry smiles ruefully at nothing, feeling Malfoy’s gaze on him. “Not just for house pride.” 

He looks up, and their gazes connect. Malfoy’s eyes are wide, and his cheeks, pink. He looks away, staring at the book in his hand like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “I just think blue is nice,” he says gruffly. 

Harry laughs, a loud laugh that seems to surprise Malfoy, whose eyes snap up to Harry’s before a smile pulls at his lips as well. 

“That is a perfectly valid reason, Malfoy.” 

A soft chuckle comes from the blond as he returns to his task once again. Moments pass in comfortable silence, and Harry watches Malfoy’s graceful movement around the room as he amasses a pile of around six books, stacking up on his desk.

Finally he halts, doing a slow scan of all the bookshelves before he turns to Harry. “I think I have everything for now, Potter.”

Harry sits up straight, ready to start. 

“Here,” Malfoy says, tossing three books towards Harry. They thump on the mattress next to him, and he grabs one. The cover is worn, well-loved, and a light grey color. He traces it, liking the rough feeling on the pads of his fingers. 

“So, what exactly am I looking for in here, Malfoy?”

The scrape of a chair dragging against the floor has Harry raising his eyes. Malfoy settles down in the chair, facing the other boy. He opens his own book, mulling through the pages as he says, “Soul injury information, Horcrux information.” His striking silver eyes glance up to Harry’s. “There’s not going to be a straight answer for this, I think we both knew that coming in. It’s never happened before, after all.”

Harry smiles bemusedly. “Of course- nothing’s ever easy when it involves Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.” 

A tinge of pink creeps into Malfoy’s cheeks, and he averts his eyes, staring intently at the page his book was open to. 

Harry tilts his head as he stares at Malfoy- he’d blushed more in the past twenty minutes than Harry had ever seen him blush before. But he lets it go, crossing his legs on the bed and opening his own book. 

Hours pass, each moment slowly dripping by like honey. The two boys sit in comfortable silence, occasionally piping up if they find something of interest. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen very often. 

Malfoy lets out a loud sigh, closing his book with a snap. Harry glances up, his chin resting in his hand. He smiles bemusedly at the sight of Malfoy, slumped down in his chair, his head lolling back. Those grey eyes were half lidded, and focused right on him. 

“Hungry, Potter?”

Harry blinks, looking blankly at Malfoy’s face. Shouldn’t they keep working? His thoughts are interrupted as his stomach lets out a low rumble, and he glances guiltily at it before looking back at Malfoy. The blonde smirks.

“I have impeccable timing. Come on then, savior.”

Harry’s nose scrunches at the nickname, and he reluctantly closes his book, gently setting it on the bedspread. Malfoy stands from his chair, reaching up and stretching deeply. His shirt lifts slightly, revealing a strip of pale skin and a dark pink marr on it. Harry blinks, his eyes flashing up to Malfoy’s. The boy cracks his neck and drops his arms, covering the scar Harry thinks he saw.

Malfoy seems none the wiser as to what Harry had seen, and throws a curious glance at him when he’s still and silent on the bed. “Potter?” 

Harry shook himself slightly, pushing himself too quickly off the bed. 

“Ah!” 

He’s hit with dizziness, and stumbles forward, the force of standing up and gravity getting the better of him. He’s stopped roughly by long-fingered hands grabbing his arms, digging into them slightly, and his head thumps, hard, into Malfoy’s chin, forcing a pained breath out of the taller boy and fully stopping Harry. 

He groans softly, bracing a hand on Malfoy’s chest to push himself up. Unfortunately, another dizzy spell hits him, and his fingers flinch closed, tightly clenching the soft fabric of Malfoy’s shirt as he struggles to stay standing. 

The hands on his arms move slightly, cupping underneath them so as to support him. They were only needed for a moment, though, as Harry forced himself away from the other boy, staggering slightly to slump down on the bed again. A quiet moan makes its way out of his mouth, and a bout of nausea has him violently retching. 

Cold hands are touching him, pressing against his forehead, and cheek, while one steadily rests on his chest. Harry feels the familiar stirring of Malfoy’s magic under his skin, calming his stomach and his irregular heartbeat.  
His blood had been pounding in his ears so loudly he could hear nothing else, but Malfoy’s voice slowly became clear as Harry’s body calms. He can hear the same soft incanting that Malfoy had done for him on the battlefield, and the quiet, almost frenzied, muttering, fills his mind as he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! (^.^') i've been sitting on it for a while, and it ended up being near double the length of my normal updates, around 1k words. this one is 2k plus some change!! they're finally making some progress on harry's little problem... but that won't do, will it :) draco's marvelous healer talents are going to get some more time in the spotlight next chapter! (can you tell i've been into sickfics lately)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s odd attack seems to have passed, and all is well with him again. But he’s noticing something even more uncomfortable within him- not with his soul, but with his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! :D this chapter’s been awhile coming, huh? i’m very excited about it, and i hope you are too! please, enjoy!! <3

Bright light pierces Harry’s eyelids as he slowly comes to consciousness. He groans, a sharp pain shooting through his head as he rolls gingerly to the side, away from the migraine-inducing glare. His throat, dry and raw, aches as he opens his mouth slightly. He tries to call out to Malfoy, but all that he can produce is a pitiful moan. 

“Harry! Oh, gods, finally, you’re awake!”

Harry grimaces at the too-loud voice, squeezing his eyes shut before he reluctantly tries blinking them open. They feel heavy, like lead, but he manages to get a half-lidded look at Malfoy, a red-faced and blotchy Malfoy who hovers by his side, before they flutter shut again.

The image of Malfoy stays in Harry’s mind. His hair had been a wreck, his shirt sleeves shoved haphazardly up his arms. He looked bad. Harry huffs out a short laugh at the thought, knowing he probably looked loads worse. The laugh quickly turns into a fit of aggressive, shuddering coughs, and Harry curls in on himself, his hands shaking as he clutches them to his heaving chest. Everything hurts. 

A cool hand cups his head, fingers gently sliding in between his messy curls. Harry melts into the touch, and the resulting relief. Malfoy crouches down next to him, his thumb rubbing small circles onto his forehead as he looks at him worriedly. “Harry?”

Harry hums quietly, eyes still closed. 

“It seems you’re having… complications. With your soul.” 

Harry cracks a smile, wincing at the sharp pain in his jaw as he does. He still can’t speak, but makes as sarcastic a noise as he can, forcing his eyes open slightly to glance at Malfoy, who rolls his eyes in return. 

Malfoy’s hand is like a balm on a burn. It subdues the pain, just slightly, and Harry pushes closer to it, his eyes closing. He lets out a deep sigh, his senses dulling as Malfoy’s magic slowly pulses into him from where his long fingered hand rests. Harry knows that pulse matches with Mafoy’s heartbeat- is one with it. 

Malfoy’s cool breath ghosts over Harry’s cheek. His presence is comforting, warm and solid and steady, and the tension leaches out of Harry’s body. 

Though his mind is fuzzy, Harry knows something is deeply wrong. He feels wrong. His chest aches slightly, as does his head. Through the fog of Malfoy’s sedating magic, Harry can feel their heartbeats thrumming together. 

“Harry. Stop thinking so much. I can practically hear you trying so hard.” 

Malfoy’s voice is slightly amused, but still sounds serious.

“You need to rest. Now.”

Malfoy murmurs a few quiet words, his hand still buried in Harry’s hair, and Harry can feel his consciousness fading. 

“Goodnight, Harry.” 

-

Harry’s eyes flutter open and he sits up, pressing a hand to his forehead. He’s clammy, his skin cool but covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Other than the discomfort from that, and the many blankets piled on him, he feels fine. 

He does a cursory glance around the room he woke up in- Malfoy’s bedroom, still. And Malfoy… is slumped in his desk chair, which is pulled up next to the bed. His head rests dangerously close to Harry’s thigh, one of his hands gently holding his wrist. Keeping Harry’s pulse through the night?

Harry smiles to himself at the thought, but it fades quickly. Keeping his pulse because it could have faded away is not such a pretty thought. 

He sighs, and gingerly retracts his arm from Malfoy’s grip. He stretches. Unsatisfied, and with an ache still in his lower back and shoulders, he slides carefully out of the large bed- the side Malfoy wasn’t sleeping soundly on. 

He stretches again, linking his fingers together and pressing them towards the ceiling, groaning quietly at the twinge of discomfort in his upper body as he does so. He pulls each arm across his chest, and does a few various other stretches, testing each limb and muscle until he’s satisfied. 

His sweat has, by now, dried in a distinctly uncomfortable layer all over his skin, and he cringes at the feeling. 

He glances at Malfoy, whose face is at peace for the first time in the days they’ve been together, and resolves not to wake him. It can’t be all that difficult to find a shower in this house, can it? 

Harry glances around the room again, noting the lack of any doors other than the main one. No ensuite for the Slytherin prince? Seems unlikely… But still, he steps quietly past Malfoy, to the door to the hallway. He turns the knob gingerly, squeezing out of the room while making as little noise as possible. 

His head swings left and right, sizing up the two directions he can go. He decides to venture to the right, first. The hallway had 3 doors, besides Malfoy’s, and ended in a large picture window. He starts with the door immediately next to Malfoy’s room, but all that reveals is a linen closet. One touch of the fabrics shows their quality. Harry draws his hand back from the sheets, shutting the door quite quickly and moving on. 

There’s multiple guest bedrooms, what looks like an unused office, and what seems to be a small city library in the other doors he opens. As he snaps that particular door shut, he realizes the next door is the one directly opposite Malfoy’s room. 

He opens it, planning to lean inside, glance around, and shut it again. He’s halfway through the process, barely taking anything in, when he realizes what he’s looking at. A huge tub sits in the center of the room, as deep as a shallow pool. 

His mouth drops open, and he spins, marching quickly into Malfoy’s room. He nudges the other boy, crouching down next to him, a twinge of regret hitting him as he does so. He doesn’t really want to wake him, but he also doesn’t want to use his bathroom without permission. 

Malfoy’s blond eyelashes flutter, and he blinks a few times. He looks well rested, at least. When he sits up, his face pressed with the folds of his sleeves, and wipes at his eyes, that’s all Harry was thinking about. That he looks well rested. Not that his hair is slightly mussed, and he looks softer when in large sweaters like the one he had donned at some point in Harry’s episode. Not that at all. 

“Potter?” Malfoy says, his voice scratchy and low. “Do you need something? Food? Why are you…” He squints at the man crouched at his feet, his eyes slowly becoming more focused. “Why are you out of the bloody bed?” 

Harry smiles slightly. “I feel better now, Malfoy. I was wanting to take a shower, but I found your bathroom- could I use that?”

Malfoy looks at him dubiously. “You just feel better?” he repeats, his voice mild. Harry can hear the undercurrent of stress there, though. He almost regrets waking his resident healer up. 

“Yes.”

Malfoy sighs, his eyebrows drawing together. “Let me check you, then. You seemed fine before,” he hesitates, “the incident of last night, so we need to be safe.” 

Harry nods agreeably, standing up. He isn’t entirely sure what “checking him” will consist of, but watching Malfoy ready himself gives him a hint. The man pushes the chair back, standing up so he’s level with Harry. He summons his wand with a quiet word, possibly having dropped it in the night.

He begins to cast, his voice still rough with sleep. His wand moves in a twirl, he says a spell, and then he pauses as he interprets whatever the results are. They aren’t visible to Harry, though he’s sure he wouldn’t understand them, even if they were. 

Malfoy’s face is focused in a way Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. His silver eyes are rapt, slightly narrowed at whatever he sees. His lips curve around the incantations in a way that’s almost beautiful, along with the way his long fingers grip his wand. 

“What do the spells do?” Harry blurts out, trying to stop his train of thought. 

Malfoy pauses his incantation, his wand hovering in midair as his eyes dart to Harry’s. “They reveal things to me. Your magical core, your auras, your energy. Any issues with them.” His hand falls to his side. “They aren’t showing anything.”

Harry grins widely. “So I can wash this sweat off me, then?”

Malfoy’s eyes darken slightly, and he tilts his head to the side. He presses his lips together in a way that makes it look like he’s stifling a smile, and his teasing tone confirms that. “Sure, Potter. But I need to be in there, too.”

Harry blanches. “Malfoy, you’ve got to be kidding.” 

“I wish I were. Unfortunately, since your last attack came on so suddenly and with no prerequisite, I need to be able to watch you.” 

Harry’s cheeks burn at Malfoy’s choice of words. “Pervert,” he mutters. 

“Yes, well,” Malfoy says airly, “if you’d like to stay alive, you might want to stay on the good side of this pervert.” He smirks sharply at Harry before turning and making his way out of the bedroom. 

Harry drops onto the boy’s bed, sighing. What is he doing? 

His thoughts are interrupted promptly with Malfoy’s rearrival. He holds a stack of fluffy towels, and a plush looking emerald green robe is slung over his arm. He drops the items onto Harry’s lap. 

“Do you have a preferred bath setting, Potter?”

Harry squints at the blond, who stood before him as if that was a perfectly normal question.

“What the fuck is a bath setting? I like the water to be warm, usually, but that’s about my only requirement.”

Malfoy looked at him, scandalized. “You don’t even use a certain bubble bath? Or an oil?” He gasps dramatically. “No Gryffindor red bath water?” 

Harry laughs. “Red bath water sounds like a nightmare. And no, I don’t have a specific magical bubble bath or bath oil. Pick one out for me, Malfoy.”

The blond just shakes his head, disapproving. “I wish I could talk to whoever raised you,” he says, whisking out of the room again. 

“No, you don’t,” Harry mutters. He’s left alone in the room for only a few seconds, again, before Malfoy sweeps back in. 

“I’ve picked. Go ahead and go in, get undressed and settled, and I’ll come in once that’s all done.” 

Harry nods, gathering the towels and robe into his arms as he stands. “Thanks, Malfoy,” he says, avoiding his eyes as he walks out of the bedroom. He enters the bathroom to the scent of mint and rain- not just rain, a thunderstorm. He’s not sure how that particular smell could be even bottled, but he doesn’t question it too much, deigning to shrug off his clothes instead. 

As his shirt drops to the floor, he hears the door creak. He instinctively curls in, covering his bare chest with his arms, but Malfoy’s eyes are covered. “Sorry, Potter- Just wanted to bring in your bag, so you have clothes to change into.”

He gently sets the bag on the floor just inside the door, closing it again, and Harry lets out a breath. He shucks his pants off as quickly as possible, along with his underwear, and slides into the tub, which is almost filled. Magical speed, he thinks with a smile. 

Bubbles cover the surface of the water. Its heat permeates Harry’s skin, almost painful. But somehow it’s relaxing, and Harry sinks in, taking a deep breath of the sweetly scented steam before he calls for Malfoy to enter. 

Malfoy does, gently closing the door behind him as he comes inside. He settles on a bench Harry hadn’t noticed when he came in- it’s by the door, a few feet back from where Harry was slumped against the wall of the tub. 

The silence stretches between them, and Harry drops his head back onto the floor of the bathroom, staring at the ceiling. There’s an intricate mural painted on it- or maybe it’s a spell. Either way, it’s beautiful. The depiction of soft clouds and sparkling stars in a dark night sky almost make him dizzy. 

“Do you want to listen to music or something, Potter?” Malfoy breaks the silence of the room to ask. Harry glances lazily over at him, his straight back and crossed legs, and smiles. 

“Maybe. What music do you like, Malfoy?”

Malfoy hums quietly in response, his finger tapping on the handle of his wand where it rests in his lap. “Muggle orchestral music is my personal favorite,” he says, smiling slightly. “My mother used to play it for me, and we would dance.” His voice is slightly wistful, and he looks up at the mural. 

Harry adjusts himself, pillowing his cheek on his folded arms, which rest on the lip of the tub. He watches Malfoy’s face, his expressions. The way he twirls his wand in his fingers mindlessly. 

“Let’s listen to that, then. Beethoven or Chopin or something. I can’t say I know much about it,” Harry says with a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut, “but I’d still love to hear it. If it means something to you, that is.” 

The warm water soothes his aching muscles, and the soft music that begins to play soothes his mind. Malfoy hums along to it quietly, and the situation feels… intimate. Maybe even uncomfortably so. But, Harry supposes, that’s how it goes when you have a mysterious magical ailment that you’re trying to solve with your childhood nemesis, who apparently became a good person and Healer-in-training in the year you were out of school. 

What an odd situation Harry was finding himself in. But that wasn’t anything new. 

“Why are you smiling so much, Potter? Is the bath that good?”

Harry opens his eyes, the smile he hadn’t known was on his face only widening as he stares at Malfoy. “The bath is great, Malfoy. You picked good scents- are they from the oils?” He attempted to divert the vain man’s attention by talking about his expensive bath products- he seemed to take them very seriously. 

“Why, Potter, how very astute of you,” Malfoy said with a smirk. “Yes, they are the oils. Sharp Spearmint and Bottled Storm, they’re called; I can show you if you like…” He rambles on, talking about the differences between Muggle and Magical oils, how the scents are collected, and what benefits they have for the skin. “The mint makes your skin cooler, so it’s good for a fever, but it’s actually mainly used for sex,” Malfoy concludes. His cheeks pinken quickly as he realizes what he’d said, and his eyes dart to Harry’s, which are locked on him.

They had been for a while, though Malfoy hadn’t noticed. 

He got impassioned like Hermione did. His hands waved in the air, and his expression was both hyper focused and a hundred miles away. He talked quickly, too, expecting his listener to keep up. He was so involved in his topic, it was mesmerizing. 

Harry’s mouth was slightly open as he stared at the blond. At Draco. 

What is happening to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’d love and appreciate any kudo or comment ;) i have a solid plan on where this fic is going now, and if you have any theories... i’d love to hear them! you might just give annoying ole author an idea. :) becstar7’s amazing drarry fic is what inspired me to get back into the grind of writing this one. check it out sometime!


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